


Party Politics

by daynight



Category: In the Loop (2009), The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, One-Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-01
Updated: 2014-05-01
Packaged: 2018-01-21 13:58:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1552928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daynight/pseuds/daynight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oh the terrible things you can learn eavesdropping at book launches</p>
            </blockquote>





	Party Politics

Book launches were always a fun occasion because not only was it open bar, both sides of the political coin would be in attendance along with the usual journos and pricks, which often meant, at least, some new faces to leer at and, at best, all out drunken brawls in the hallways. Claire Ballentyne’s new book, sadly not revolving around sordid tales of her struggles with a poker addiction and gambling debts (that would have been a lot more interesting) had attracted quite a motley crew of political monsters. The most monstrous of all, M. Tucker the all-knowing, was working the room, spreading fear and radiating dangerous charisma simultaneously. Despite his insistence on ‘not being the story’ or ‘only being in the shadows’, Malcolm was definitely the centre of most of the crowds’ attention as he flashed shark smiles at his victims before eviscerating them with outwardly harmless small talk. Ollie, who had just arrived, was attempting to stay out of his eye line without actually appearing to be hiding from him. It was mostly because he was afraid of a mega-bollocking for a rather shoddy job writing up a speech recently, which had caused the minister to horrifically waffle his lines and look a bit of a nobhead on live TV. Another reason to avoid any member of the Caledonia Mafia would be the horrifically embarrassing fact that Emma had insisted that they attend the event together. As a couple. She had made sure to physically remove his tie and symbolically remove his gonads on the way in, leaving him red-faced and vulnerable to amused snide comments and fairly undisguised jibes. Luckily, Malcolm appeared to be busy chatting to Julius Nicholson with a pained, dubious expression on his face, obviously listening to a couple of the ‘blue sky thinker’s ingenious new political daydreams. Ollie decided that this would distract/annoy him enough to slip into the party in relative safety, glad for a couple of moments calm before the inevitable ritual humiliation pertaining to the blonde Tory bit on his arm (or was he in fact on her arm? Certainly felt more like it…) began. 

Jamie was doing his usual- casual insults, numerous smoke-breaks and waving around a dangerously sloshy bottle of beer in the middle of telling some poor bastard in creative ways just how he could fuck off. His (frankly horrible) tie was askew, top button undone and boxy suit incredibly rumpled, hair scruffy as a schoolboy. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted Ollie, who had focused too heavily on avoiding Malcolm and not on his head henchman. Jamie, who seemed to have been rather heavy on the ales that evening, was lurching towards Ollie at lightning speed before he could devise a plan of action or divert his attention to an imaginary girl-fight across the room (something that could always turn his head, no matter the circumstance). 

“Ehhh Poxbridge poofter! and Emily, was it?”

Ollie was trapped by Jamie, who was spreading his smaller figure across all accessible escapes, gleefully boxing him in. He glanced worriedly at Emma, noting with horror that she didn’t seem particularly adverse to the company, who was currently grinning threateningly whilst letting his eyes drift down her top.

“It’s Emma…” 

“Gi’ a fuck? Surprised you cancelled your night of vicious pegging to come down, seeing as Malc is fucking pissed about that speech.” Ollie visibly gulped. “Luckily for you I don’t give two shits about it, otherwise I would have already broken your fucking brow bone with this...” He sloshed the beer bottle around for emphasis, froth spilling onto the floor. Emma was eyeing Ollie, demanding a sufficiently masculine response to these threats of violence without much hope that one would be made, wimpy milk sop that he was. She knew he had the balls of an underfed hamster but hated to be embarrassed in public, and honestly she didn’t really have many other options for semi-suitable shag in this line of work. God, she thought, if only Rufus hadn’t broken up with her to go work for charity (aka enjoy an extended gap yah) in Mozambique. He was a rugby player with calves the size of a Christmas ham. 

“Well thanks Jamie, that’s, um, very kind of you. So Malcolm is looking for me then?”

“He’s got your number, pal. He’s got your fucking number.” Jamie’s eyes darted around as he rubbed his nose, blatantly bored already with tormenting Ollie. 

“Brilliant.”

“Emily, what the fuck are you doing with this stringy wanker eh? You’re a fucking tory but even you could do better, love. What are you doing this Friday? Want to go for a drink with a bloke who has an actual penis, for a change?” He flashed Emma a charming, very toothy and bright-eyed smile that she returned, somewhat half-heartedly, hoping that he was making some kind of bizarre joke. 

“Jamie, stop flirting with my girlfriend. It’s…really weird.”

“Whoa don’t worry big man, it was a fucking joke. Right, you lot are boring as, call me back when Malc is fucking maiming you so I can watch okay? Toodaloo, bye bye.”

Finally stopping his obstacle act in front of Ollie, Jamie tore off in the direction of the bar. Ollie smiled at Emma sheepishly.

“We’re pretty good mates, you know.” She had the good grace to not look too incredulous at this rather pathetic statement.

Half an hour later, Ollie and Emma had joined Ben Swain and his cronies in an in-depth conversation that soon turned towards the sex-lives of their co-workers and friends as the drink began to pour more steadily. Terri they had all known was married and found it difficult to believe but even more bizarrely apparently her husband was almost ten years younger than her and incredibly attractive. She had met him arranging a photo shoot at Waitrose; a young actor reigned in to play a discerning young metropolitan dad purchasing luxury veg in an ad campaign and immediately snapped him up. Now he lived comfortably as her stay at home husband, for some ungodly reason (witch craft?) completely devoted to his bustling and domineering wife. Glen, of course, was not getting any, especially not from Robyn, and his wife had ditched him in the early 90’s to move to southern Spain. Nicola seemed to also be going through a dry spell with her loathsome husband, a fact that amused Ben greatly, although aside from awkwardly and unsuccessfully propositioning his aides he was not doing that much better in the boinking department. Julius Nicholson was one that no one really knew about but the consensus was that he really, really could not be straight. Jamie was more obvious, almost everyone knew he was divorced from a pretty wife and had (a horrific thought) a couple of kids, genders unknown. Everyone also knew that he had shagged a fair few, despite extreme aggression and social ineptitude he somehow managed to get around with a couple higher ups and BBC bozos of both gender. Perhaps some people liked vulgar and shouty men? There was no accounting for taste (Emma secretly thought that although she didn’t want to be with someone vulgar persay, aggression in a man was very attractive indeed and she could somewhat understand the appeal). Ben Swain was just beginning, after a third beer, to attempt to get Emma to divulge embarrassing tidbits about Ollie’s nocturnal behaviour (aka. making a very womanly, high pitched noise when he came and pretty crap foreplay skills that involved tweaking her breasts about like an ambitious teenage DJ at a talent show) when a slim and grey-toned hand landed, clamp like, on Ollie’s shoulder. 

“Oi, Bran and Hodor, have you seen Jamie anywhere?”

“Shit Malcolm! Didn’t see you there.” Malcolm’s ‘friendly’ smile faded into a grimace and his eyes narrowed. He moved in close and lowered his voice in Ollie’s direction.

“I think you did, son. I think you’ve been avoiding me because you fucked up that speech earlier. You’ve been hiding from me, like a little parasitic fuck-rat” Ollie visibly gulped and began to stammer. Luckily Emma was engaged in conversation with nice nutter Nick and couldn’t witness the humiliation that was Ollie practically peeing his pants at Malcolm’s expert whisper-boarding. 

“I wasn’t…look Malcolm if you’re going to bollock me then can you do it in private? Tomorrow?” 

“Yeah tomorrow, prepare your anus.” Ollie blinked furiously in complete surprise, somewhat resembling Ben on newsnight. To listen to him was out of the ordinary but to hold something off until a later date was practically unheard of from Malcolm. 

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, I’ve got bigger fish to fry tonight, your useless arse is not a priority” He paused, green eyes flickering about. Malcolm was presentable as always in a neat black suit, his grey hair cut cleanly against his scalp but something seemed off with him. He was almost worried? Distracted? No, Ollie dismissed, it couldn’t be. Probably just an elaborate ruse, as always. “Tell me if you see Jamie, right?"

“Um…okay” Malcolm detached himself from Ollie’s ear and looked around the circle, who stared back obediently. He flashed a trademark gregarious smile, called them all fuckers in a casual, off-hand way and reminded Ben not to eat ‘all the fucking canapes’, then swept off dramatically.

“Why is he in such a weird mood?” Questioned Ben, stuffing a salmon and cream cheese confection into his mouth with enthusiasm. He too, despite complete stupidity, seemed to have picked up on the uneasy atmosphere around the notorious spin doctor. 

“No clue. But here’s a question. What about Malcolm’s sex life?” 

“Ergh, I don’t even want to know. It would be like Voldemort shagging, evil and wrong.”

“Do you reckon he has really furious, angry sex and bollocks them the entire time?”

“Sounds fucking horrible!”

“I think he’s quite sexy, for an old guy.” Everyone turned to stare in disbelief at a random female aid that quickly excused herself in flustered embarrassment. After a couple jokes were cracked at her expense (daddy issues and masochism jibes, mostly) Ollie remembered Terri bringing up a magazine article that mentioned Malcolm being quite a ‘womanizer’, presumably before he became the husk that thought only of work he was today. Malcolm definitely had the capability for seduction. He was incredibly frightening, surely, but when he was nice he was charming and you felt so grateful for those surprise moments of kindness that you probably would shag him in the moment of vulnerability his niceness created. 

It was later that night that Ollie saw it. As he and Emma, bored out of her mind now and begging to go home, promising all sorts of sexual favours in exchange, waited for a cab outside Ollie happened to look down an alleyway nearby. Jamie, looking a bit worse for wear was leaning up against a wall, smoking a cigarette. Thankfully, he couldn’t see the couple, despite Emma’s annoying and loud complaining alerting almost half of London to their presence. Jamie seemed to be angry (not unusual) , looking at his phone, cursing under his breath. Out of a doorway came, to Ollie’s surprise, Malcolm. He never usually stayed this late at functions, considering them a complete waste of his time. Malcolm headed towards Jamie, who saw him and began walking away, with Malcolm increasing pace behind him. Ollie could just make out what they were shouting.

“Stop ignoring me, you stupid cunt!”

“Fuck off, I don’t want to see you now.” Malcolm was making his righteous anger face as he stormed down to pavement towards a weaving Jamie. 

“Well what the fuck did I do then?” He bellowed and Jamie spun on his heels, not an easy feat when he was as pissed as he appeared. 

“Like you don’t fucking know, stupid bastard.”

“What? Just because I told you not to drink so much?”

“You’ve got no fucking right to tell me what to do. You tell me enough at work, I can do whatever I bloody want in my own time! Just cuz you’re fucking tee-total like a fucking boring twat. Let me do what I want. ”

“You sound like a fucking teenage girl.” They had both stopped and appeared to be smiling at each other. Why did this look, thought Ollie, a sinking feeling surging through his stomach, like flirting? 

“You wish I was one, you perverted old cock. But aye, you’re right. I do sound like a dick.” He jogged up to Malcolm and, horror of horrors, Ollie audibly gapsed shock and repulson, put his arm around his waist. Malcolm, to even further horror, let him and even seemed satisfied as Jamie, who's mood had done a complete 180, leaned against him. 

“Stupid bastard.” Like it was an endearment. “Let’s go home, yeah? I'm fed up with this shit” Luckily, before Ollie felt compelled to rip out his eyeballs at the abject sight of Malcolm cheerfully allowing Jamie to drag him down the street with enthusiasm, eyes on fire with conspiratorial glee, their Taxi arrived and Emma, none the wiser to the awful and mind-breaking scene down the road, sighed with emphasised relief and forced a stunned Ollie into the back. 

Now Ollie had the ultimate party appropriate gossip but something told him that it would be a better choice to clean his teeth with a loaded gun than to ever spread it around. Ollie felt ill the entire journey back to Emma’s. Not even a sub-par blowie could bleach his mind.


End file.
